


Rooftops

by thisbitchheartbroken (SwAgAmAnDeR)



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Mercenary Peter Parker, Mercenary Wade Wilson, Spideypool Big Bang 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:48:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22604236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwAgAmAnDeR/pseuds/thisbitchheartbroken
Summary: Spider-man is a mercenary. He’s not proud of it, but a job is a job and he’s good at it. Things get more complicated when he does a job one night with a loud-mouthed and sharp-shooting Deadpool, and even more complicated when the two grow close. When Wade introduces some demons from his past into Peter’s life, things fall apart.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 152
Collections: Spideypool Big Bang - The 2019 Collection





	Rooftops

**Author's Note:**

> My contribution to the Spideypool 2019 Big Bang!!! My blood, sweat, and tears are put into this and I can honestly say that I am so, so proud of this work, as well as all that everyone else on my team did! Huge thanks to [AiralySwirls](https://airalyswirls.tumblr.com/) for providing lovely artwork and being so incredibly creative and thoughtful, and being an all-around cool person. Thanks as well to [Lord Avon](https://lordkerravon.tumblr.com/) for being a great beta and dealing with my inappropriate use of commas.

Esoteric Enterprises was the beating, pulsating heart of New York City’s crime syndicate. In a city as bold as New York, if you saw someone walking down the street who looked like they shouldn’t be messed with, you could make two assumptions. Firstly, they shouldn’t be messed with. Secondly, they had a burner phone with a contact labeled “E&E” somewhere on their person.

Their quick-witted and competent agents to gathered requests from clients and formed teams of criminals to fulfill those requests. Every conniving, money-powered mercenary to step foot in New York indubitably had a file at Esoteric Enterprises.

On the morning of June 12th, following a call from a Mr. Smythe, Wade Wilson’s file was pulled and the contact number dialed. Next, Peter Parker’s.

…

Wade found himself on the roof of a tall, dark building at 11:43 p.m. on June 18th. It was a standard enough call from E&E: go to location, retrieve item, leave with item. In this case, the item was a computer file containing the genetic engineering formula from one of the most secretive scientists in the city, Dr. Curt Connors.

_(Woah, woah, woah. Genetic engineering? A bit above our pay grade, don’t you think?)_

**(Yeah, we’re more of a point, shoot, BOOM! type.)**

“Well, supposedly they sent someone else out here to do all the science-y stuff,” Wade sighed and ran his gloved finger over one of the many guns on his belt. E&E was quick money; being the only one in their database with above a 95% success rate, he was called to a lot of jobs. Unfortunately, it also meant he had to deal with whatever hotshot of the week they sent to “help” him out.

In this case, they were going to be loading files onto a hard drive while Wade got the job of making sure they didn’t die. Very challenging.

_(Think we’ll have to give them a crash course on tripwires like last time?)_

**(Your teaching voice was very sexy, Wade.** **)**

“I hope not,” Wade muttered. E&E didn’t always send the brightest mercenaries.

“What?”

Wade quickly turned on his heel towards the voice behind him, instinctively grabbing and aiming his gun. The person in question was a skinny yet muscular, masculine yet feminine figure that stood only a few inches shorter than Wade. His red and blue skintight suit, eerily similar to his own, shone in the darkness. “Who are you?” Wade asked, putting on his threatening voice.

“Spider-man,” the figure said, holding up his hands. His voice was smooth and high pitched, leading Wade to believe he must have been rather young. “From E&E.”

 _(_ Spider-man _?)_ the boxes laughed. _(This is gonna be a fun one.)_

“You’re the science guy.” Wade lowered his gun. “I wasn’t aware they started sending out kids.”

“I’m not a kid-“

**(Says every kid ever.)**

“I have a degree in bioengineering.” Spider-man crossed his arms, clearly annoyed.

“Shouldn’t you be working _in_ a lab then, not stealing from them?” Wade smiled as he saw the man’s irritability grow. “Unless this is your side job.”

“We need to get going,” the smaller man turned, his voice tense. He pulled a flash drive from some unseen pocket and began to walk towards the edge of the building.

“Oh, you’re so sexy when you dismiss me, _Spider-man_ ,” Wade giggled. “How did you get up here anyways?”

“I climbed.” He knelt next to a sunroof and began prying at the edge of it.

“Ah, so you’re a mutant?” Wade stood next to him, watching him pull off screws with his bare hands.

“Isn’t everyone nowadays?” Despite his brute handling of the screws, he carefully laid the now unattached glass pane onto the ground next to the opening.

“Touché.”

“So how are we doing this.” he stood back up and dusted off his knees.” “I go in and grab it while you stay here and keep watch?”

“Unless you’d like the protection of the one and only Deadpool.” Wade grinned and waggled his eyebrows, even though he was sure that the other man probably couldn’t see it under his mask.

“ _You’re_ Deadpool?” he remarked.

“Is that a bad thing?”

“You’re just…different than I expected.” Spider-man’s tone wasn’t aggressive, just confused.

_(Although he still didn’t say if that was a bad thing.)_

“Anyways, protection is not necessary,” he started to slide himself through the hole. “I’ll catch you on the flip,”

…

Deadpool decided if this kid was confident enough to charge in without so much as a “come check on me in five minutes” he would let him do his thing.

So he did. And he waited. But soon, twenty minutes had passed and he hadn’t even heard a chair shuffle from inside the building below him.

**(Think we’re just waiting on a corpse?)**

_(As long as he already uploaded the file,_ I’m _not heartbroken over it.)_

“You guys are dicks.” Wade groaned and lowered himself into the building in defeat.

The lights were on, which was odd. They were in some sort of office complex, as the room was filled wall to wall with cubicles. Except, however, in the center of the room stood a tall monolith of a computer, covered with flashing screens and large, bright buttons. It was definitely on, and Wade could make out the dongle plugged in from where he stood, but there was no sign of Spider-man.

He opened his mouth, ready to call out to find the man, when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye.

A bald, shiny head of a fat man with wire-rimmed glasses was poking his head over a cubicle. Deadpool effortlessly lifted his gun from his belt, aimed with one arm, and moved his finger toward the-

_Thwip!_

There was not a gun in his hand anymore.

He scanned the room frantically and saw the same red and blue-clad man from earlier, now stuck onto the ceiling near the monolith. Deadpool’s gun was in his hand, although not aimed. In fact, he held it with the tips of his fingers like he was afraid to touch it.

_(That little son of a bitch.)_

**(I guess _Spider-_ man makes sense now.)**

Deadpool turned back to the cubicle and seamlessly pulled out one of his spare guns and began to haphazardly fire towards the bald man. However, he was gone, and Wade could hear his footsteps retreating down the hallway leading from the other side of the room.

“Shit!” Wade yelled, “Why the fuck did you do that?!”

“I was handling it _fine_ and there was _no_ reason for that guy to get killed.” Spider-man hopped down graciously, despite his angry tone, and began to stride towards Deadpool.

“Did you not _see_ him or something?” Wade was unsure if he had ever worked with someone this stupid before.

“Yes, I saw him, but he didn’t see _me._ I’m pretty sure he saw you when you just slammed yourself down here.” The smaller man was fuming, his hands on his hips as he paced in front of Deadpool, “Do you ever practice stealth or do you just point and shoot your way through these things?”

_(Sassy!)_

**(Might have to go home a cry a bit after that one.)**

“Not everyone-“

They were cut off by a loud, shrill alarm and the lights in the room suddenly cutting off, including those in the monolith.

“Shit.” Spider-man dropped Deadpool’s gun-

**(Was the safety even on?)**

And ran back towards the computer.

“This is _exactly_ why I wanted to _kill_ that guy.” Deadpool shouted, readying his weapons.

_(Somehow, I bet there’s more to this than the lights just shutting off.)_

“We need to go.” Spider-man was already running back towards him.

“What about the files?”

“They shut it off.” He shook his head. “There’s no way to get it now. The download wasn’t complete.”

“So you’re telling me we went through all this, and we aren’t even going to get _paid_ because you didn’t let me shoot some guy? Why would you join the mercenary business if you’re just going to act like some wannabe Avenger?” Wade said angrily.

“’Went through all this?’” Spider-man made air quotes. “You just stood on the roof, man. I was the one down here actually doing stuff.”

They both paused as they heard people running down the hallway leading to the room.

“Look, I’m leaving. If you want to stay here and mindlessly shoot people, fine. But I’m telling you, there is no way we are getting that file now, so I am leaving,” Spider-man said firmly. He flew out the hole in the ceiling, using some sort of string that propelled out of his wrists to do so.

**(I guess you see something new each day.)**

_(What an exit. Did you see his ass?)_

Deadpool left too after that, not before gaining a gunshot to his calf. Spider-man wasn’t anywhere to be found once he crawled his way out through the ceiling.

Go figure.

…

Wade lay on his grimy, torn couch, popping Fritos into his mouth when burner phone #27 (he had them lined up nicely on his mantle, like family photos) began to buzz.

“Hello?” He picked the phone up from its spot.

“Hello, this is Dr. Adam’s office calling about the results of your prost-“

“Cut the shit, Diane.” Wade sighed as he recognized the decoy line that all the E&E agents used. “Lay it on me.”

The agent filled him in quickly. Same mission as last time, with extra emphasis on successful completion this time.

“The client must be pretty motivated?” he asked, knowing that E&E charged a fee even if the results of the mission were unsuccessful.

“Yes, Mr. Pool.”

Wade laughed. He had told them to call him that or else he was leaving E&E for their up-and-coming rival, Abstruse Agencies. New York has a thing for alliteration. “I’ll be sure to be there. Just do one thing for me, will you, Diane?”

“Yes, Mr. Pool?” The woman sounded exasperated.

“Make sure I get someone different from last time.”

Wade clicked the flip phone closed and fell back down onto his couch, pouring the crumbs from his bag of Fritos into his mouth.

…

Wade found himself on the roof of the same tall, dark building as three weeks ago. It was now 2:43 a.m., and the skylight had been replaced by a metal sheet, welded on. There were also several wires leading across the roof, which Wade made a mental note to tell whoever his partner was about before-

“You again?” an annoyed voice came from behind him.

Wade turned around and came face to face with Spider-man.

_(Ah, shit)_

The man looked tired, his posture drooping. He lacked the bitter anger and resentment he had when he had stormed off last time, and now just looked inconvenienced.

Wade groaned, “I _specifically_ asked Dianne to not send you.”

“Yeah, well, apparently they didn’t have anyone else who was skilled enough in time to do this, so they sent me.”

“Skilled enough to do what, upload files to a flash drive?” Wade scoffed.

“Yeah, _sure,_ Deadpool. I’m not arguing with you right now. Can we get this done? I have an exam tomorrow.” The man began walking towards the metal sheet, stepping over the trip wires without even looking down.

“ _Exam_? I guess E&E _is_ sending kids now.” Wade followed him over. “Also, I thought you said you already had your degree?”

“I’m guessing you’ve never heard of grad school?” Spider-man began feeling the edges of the metal with his fingertips. “Look, Deadpool, I’ll level with you. As a person, I find you annoying.”

_(Ouch.)_

**(Aaaaaand just when we were looking for more crying-in-the-shower material!)**

“But we’re here on business. We have different specialties. That’s _fine._ Let me go in there and grab it. You can stay up here and watch. No harm, no foul.”

“Well don’t you make my life easy, Spidey.” Wade crossed his arms and pretended like what he had said hadn’t hurt him.

**(He’s a _stranger_ , though. What’s the big whoop?)**

Wade didn’t dwell on that thought. “Quick question though, how are we getting in? Unless you can stick to walls _and_ have super strength-“

Spider-man answered his question by ripping the sheet in two like it was a piece of paper.

 _(Well, didn’t know he could do_ that _.)_

And with that, he swooped into the opening, once again propelling some sort of material out of his wrists.

Deadpool waited, hoping his boxes wouldn’t annoy him too much in the meantime.

…

It only took Spider-man twenty-three minutes to climb back out of the opening. No alarms were sounding off, which was promising.

“Forget something?” Deadpool asked, getting up from where he sat cross-legged, polishing his guns.

“Nope.” he popped the ‘p’ and held up the dongle. “Mission accomplished.”

“Wow.” Deadpool crossed his arms. “I’m impressed. I’ve never seen someone do this so quickly. Normally there’s a lot more fumbling. When you’re the ‘Brains’ in a ‘Brains and Brawn’ partnership and you have to ask the ‘Brawn’ for help, somethings up.”

The other man laughed, seemingly full of energy now that they had successfully gotten the flash drive. That’s one thing all mercenaries had in common: the thrill of completing a mission. Wade was feeling it too. “I’ll drop it off at E&E tomorrow, then?”

“That’s fine with me,” Wade said. “So can you _fly_ too, or how are you getting home?”

Spider-man chuckled again. “Can’t fly, although I did build myself webshooters. Helps with getting around.” he tapped the metal bands on his wrist.

“Huh, I was wondering how you did that. Hey, I have a webshooter too if you’d like to-“

“Aaaaand I’m cutting you off there.” Spider-man nodded at him before turning away. “It was nice working with you, DP.”

“ _Dp?_ Awwww! You too, _Spidey_.” Deadpool grinned under his mask.

Spider-man shook his head before slinging himself off of the building.

Deadpool just leaped off the side.

It was quicker than climbing, and he came back, anyways.

…

As it turns out, they didn’t do half bad as a team. In fact, they did great.

The same client who asked for the information from Dr. Connors lab had put in _more_ requests for information from _more_ labs, so Spider-man and Deadpool got paired up often.

Once the agency suddenly stopped getting requests from that client (coincidentally, after a mass attack by The Lizard and various other mutants on a building somewhere on the outskirts of the city), it wasn’t too long before the two men started requesting to work with each other.

“So,” Wade said, plopping down next to where Spider-man sat on the rooftop, a bag full of various Mexican foods in his hands, “Any chance you’ll tell me _today_?”

This was a thing they did now. Pre-mission food (Sometimes Indian, sometimes Chinese, sometimes all-American hotdogs, mainly Mexican) and conversations on rooftops. Spider-man could web himself up there easily enough, and Wade, well, he was just strong and crazy enough to find a way. Spider-man didn’t look up from his currently disassembled webshooters, his legs dangling off the edge of the building. “No, Wade.”

That was also a new development. Spider-man knew his name now, along with various other things. He had shared a bit with Wade as well, but not his name, “But _Spidey_ , I told you _mine_.”

“It’d kind of ruin the whole ‘secret-identity’ schtick I’ve got going on if I told you.” There was no malice in his voice as he smiled.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Deadpool laughed and fished a taco out of the bag. “What are you doing to your webshooters?”

“They’ve been acting weird lately, so I’m trying to see what’s up with them.” Spider-man held up a green motherboard to the light of the quickly drooping sunset.

“Acting weird _how?_ ” Wade asked, mask rolled up to his nose as he took a bite of the greasy taco. This was also a new development. Spider-man hadn’t said anything about the scars, not even paid them more than a second glance, although Wade couldn’t help but wonder what he thought of them.

_(Probably thinks they’re so gross that he doesn’t want to think about them long enough to ask a question.)_

Yet another new development, the boxes now gave their opinions less, however, when they did, they were far more aggressive than they had been. Wade was conflicted about this. The quiet was nice, but _jeez_ , were they mean.

“They don’t shoot all the time now, which is kind of concerning-“

“ _Concerning_? I’d think so, Spidey. Are you sure you should be doing a mission tonight?”

“Yes, _mom_. I’ll be fine. Can’t buy new parts without money, so I kind of have to.” They were now reassembled, but off. Spider-man flicked them a few times until they finally, weakly, lit up. Wade wondered where all the money went. He worked almost as many missions as Wade did, and Wade knew that E&E did _not_ skimp on pay. Drugs maybe? Gambling problem? Wade heavily doubted those options. Student loans, probably.

“ _Alright_ , it’s just that _I’m_ the one with the better healing factor in this relationship-“

“ _Relationship_?” Spider-man laughed weakly. Wade didn’t even need the boxes to chime in to make the association between laughter and the thought of being in a relationship with Wade. Which Wade didn’t care about. Obviously.

“Fine, _partnership_. Tomato, tomahto. Jeez, Spidey, you’re so _particular_.” Wade shook his head jokingly and got up as Spider-man laughed and finally grabbed the bag of food. “I’m going to start heading to the point, since _some_ of us don’t have the luxury of being able to trapeze our way through the city.”

Spider-man laughed again, light as air. “I’ll see you there, Wade. If I go ‘splat’ on the way I’ll be sure to give you a call.”

“Please do, dear.” Wade smiled before jumping down onto the fire escape.

…

The mission went smoothly. Almost too smoothly, actually. It was another simple one: go to location, steal item (a ratty old ballcap with seemingly no value), and deliver to E&E. It became less simple when they realized the building was constantly patrolled by S.W.A.T. team-esque security. But still, manageable.

Spider-man simply webbed them up while Deadpool shot them (nonlethally, at Spider-man’s request). It worked well, until, inevitably, Spider-man’s webshooters started acting up. Even then, they recovered smoothly. Wade covered for him, shooting agents left and right as the other man knelt down and hastily fiddled with it. Soon, though, everything was fixed and they went back into their rhythm.

Even getting the hat was simple. It was sitting on the desk of the main office of whoever owned the building, as if it were waiting for them.

No, the trouble came when they tried to leave.

Deadpool had taken the first-floor exit, because as previously established, he couldn’t web his way down like Spider-man could.

Spider-man, on the other hand, had found himself a few stories up while trying to disable the alarms so that they could leave without being trailed by more security.

Deadpool watched from the ground as Spider-man pulled a window open and jumped out. He watched as the first line of webbing caught the adjacent building smoothly, and watched as the second line never left the web shooter, seemingly malfunctioning once again. He watched as Spider-man’s muscle memory caused him to cut the first line anyways, not even having time to panic before falling at full speed towards the hard concrete.

Deadpool ran, not even registering what his body was doing. And then there was a harsh jolt, and he blacked out.

…

Deadpool woke up and the first thing he registered was the cold, wet concrete beneath him. Then, a figure in front of him, who he slowly discerned to be Spider-man, holding his breath in anticipation. Then, lastly, the cool air on his face, meaning his mask must be off.

His hands flew up to his face and, indeed, he felt his bare, jagged skin, sticky with what felt like blood.“Where’s my mask?” he said gruffly, not moving his hands from where they were.

“You’re- shit, Wade, how are you feeling?” Spider-man moved forward from where he was crouched. Wade could practically feel the waves of concern radiating off of him. He reached an arm out to touch Wade, but he shrugged away.

“My- my mask, Spider-man. Where is it?” He felt ashamed. Had he taken his mask off, in some half-dead state of confusion? Or had Spider-man?

**(Can’t hide the ugly anymore** **.)**

_(So, so ugly. He doesn’t want to look at you. You should leave.)_

The man paused for a moment, then reached behind him and handed over Wade’s mask, damp and redder than he remembered. Wade put it on, refusing to meet Spider-man’s eyes. He was silent, watching, however, Wade would have liked it better if he would just say something.

Embarrassment was running raw through his veins, and he made the prompt decision to nope out of there. He went to get up, and let out a groan of pain as he finally looked down and realized his legs were still screwed up into some sort of broken mess. Meaning he was stuck here, for the time being.

_(Well, if you can’t leave, you should tell him to.)_

**(You’ve seen the kid, he has some sort of moral compass. He’s staying out of pity.)**

_(Pitiful, sad little Wade.)_

Wade opened his mouth to obey the boxes-

“Thank you, Wade,” Spider-man’s voice cracked in front of him.

“What?” the boxes’ train of thought was derailed momentarily.

“Thank you, Wade, for saving me.” Wade looked closer now and saw that Spider-man was shaking. He was wet with blood, too, probably Wade’s. “I- shouldn’t have risked both of our lives by going out here when my webshooters weren’t working. And- look, you got hurt because of me. You had no obligation to do that, and-“ there was a little gasp of breath under his mask, “ _Thank_ you, Wade.”

The boxes were certainly quiet now, leaving Wade on his own. “It’s- nothing, Spidey.”

Spider-man instinctually wiped at tears, pointless since he was wearing a mask, “Are you hurting?”

“Am I-“ Wade paused and held back a groan as he felt his tibia snap back into one piece. If he wasn’t already so embarrassed, he’d ask Spider-man to knock him back out. This was his least favorite part, made him cringe on some primal level – the bones snapping back together. “No, I’m fine. Are you?”

Spider-man didn’t say anything, just leaned forward and hugged him, hard. Deadpool was set aback, tense, but slowly loosened into his grip. He didn’t let his mind dwell on how nice it felt.

They sat there, two sore and bloody men hugging each other, for a while until Spider-man broke the silence. “Peter.”

“What?”

“Peter. My name is Peter, Wade.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

 _Peter,_ “It’s a nice name.”

Deadpool’s legs had fused back together now, so Peter got up. “I’ll see you next time, Wade.”

“See you Peter.” Wade said as he walked past Peter’s pair of webshooters, now crushed in anger, and a large splatter of blood.

The boxes sure were quiet.

…

They don’t bring it up again. They go on with their lives, Wade and Peter, Deadpool and Spider-man. Partners in crime – literally.

Eventually, Peter Parker receives a call from Wade. He was sat at a café a few blocks from his last class when the grimy, silver flip phone with only two contacts on it began to buzz.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Petey, love of your life calling.”

Peter sighed and closed the notebook that he was reading. “Hi, Wade. What’s up?”

“I have a _job_ for us.” Wade said in a sing-song voice.

“Then why am I getting a call from you and not E&E?” Peter asked skeptically.

“Let’s just say it’s a bit of a personal thing, Petey. I’ll pay you in lots of New York’s best cuisine, though,” Wade laughed. Wherever he was, it was loud. Peter could barely hear him over the phone.” “Will you be free tonight at 11, _sweetie_?”

Peter snorted, knowing by now that resisting Wade’s pet names would only make it worse. “I’ll be there, Wade.”

“Yay!” Wade exclaimed. “See you then, Spidey!”

Peter sighed and hung up, going back to studying while he still could.

…

Wade knew he shouldn’t lie. Really, he knew that. Even without the boxes’ snide comments, he knew somewhere deep in his heart that Peter – Peter who hated killing people and giggled when Wade made stupid jokes and had a fucking college degree – would be unhappy with him if he were to find out what Wade was up to.

_(You’re a fucking liar.)_

“He’ll understand.” Wade mumbled to himself, picking up his drink and taking a long sip.

He put it down as Weasel walked up to him from behind the bar. “Wade, what did I tell you about scaring the other patrons by talking to yourself?”

“I found him.” Wade said, dismissing Weasel’s statement on the vague assumption it was a joke.

“Gonna have to be more specific than that, buddy.” Weasel held a crystal glass up to the light, a rag in his other hand, checking for imperfections. Sister Margaret’s had transformed from a dingy bar to a rather well-off establishment in the past few years as E&E drew mercenaries into the area. Once word got around Weasel didn’t give a shit about what was done or said in the bar as long as people cleaned up after themselves, Sister Margaret’s became a sort of sanctuary for underground criminals, with all of their dirty money and poor impulse control.

“Stanley Morgan.” Wade said in loud voice, scratchy from the liquor in his glass. There wasn’t a reason to be quiet about it. He was coming for the fucker, and there wasn’t much that could get in his way.

“That name means nothing to me, Wade.” Weasel said dryly. Despite his new success, he was still an asshole at heart.

“He’s the last of those Weapon X guys.” Wade shivered involuntarily as the name left his tongue.

Weasel’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “I thought you took care of all of those fuckers.”

“All but one.” Wade took another sip of his drink. It didn’t do much, thanks to his healing factor, but the taste reminded him of a time long before all of this. He didn’t remember much from before Weapon X, and he didn’t like to think about that. Yet still, the hard liquor reminded him of…something.

“You getting E&E in on this?” Weasel was now fully immersed in the conversation and leaning on the bar top.

“Nah. Not really a point unless I want to pay them for something that I can do myself. Plus, I kind of want to.”

“I can respect that.” Weasel nodded knowingly. “I assume you’re gonna bring your spider friend with you?”

“Yeah.” Wade smiled. He had already spilled his fascination with the man to Weasel, who despite his asshole tendencies knew how to keep his mouth shut. “Although, he doesn’t know that I’m gonna kill the guy.”

“Classy, DP.” Weasel snorted.

He made an uneasy smile, but his stomach was twisting.

The boxes were singing in his head, **(He’s gonna hate you forever.)**

_(And ever.)_

**(And ever.)**

…

Peter showed up outside the address Deadpool sent him, a large warehouse with plywood nailed haphazardly over the windows, exactly on time. He always did, partially because it was ingrained into him by a lifetime within the working class. He learned that lesson quickly: everyone is expendable and there is always someone who is able to do your job quicker and cheaper. Eliminating any reason for someone to fire him was a technique he mastered before he finished high school, after being tragically “laid off” by a number of various fast food restaurants.

The other reason, which made Peter’s stomach tingle, was that he wanted to impress Wade. He tried to distance his work as far as possible from his personal life, for good reason. E&E was pretty good about protecting their employees, but he had heard stories through the grapevine of angry targets succeeding in retaliation anyways. May was too important to him to even let there be a risk of that happening. And besides, the one time he let himself befriend someone else in the field, a sharpshooter who had enhancements (Peter refused to call them superpowers) just like he did, he had gotten blown to pieces. Peter supposed he didn’t have to worry about that with Deadpool, but still. ‘’Parker Luck’ and all.

Yet still, he found himself suited up and ready to go at Wade’s beck and call.

Deadpool shuffled through the bushes leading to their meeting spot only ten minutes later, which was relatively on time as far as working with Wade went. He didn’t have any food with him this time, leaving Peter’s stomach to grumble sadly. He hardly ever had the money to afford eating out, even if it was for two-dollar tacos.

“Aw, no tacos?” Peter teased, approaching the man and clapping him on the back.

Wade flinched at the touch. “Didn’t have, uh, the time.”

Peter hesitated at the change from his typical demeanor. “Bad night?”

“No,” he monotoned. He wasn’t even looking at him, instead at some point in the distance over Peter’s shoulder. He wondered distantly if this was some sort of residual thing about taking off his mask. Then again, he probably would have brought it up at some point before now if that was the case.

“…okay.” Peter sighed and changed the subject. “So you never actually told me what we were doing here?”

Wade paused for a second and looked at Peter like he, too, did not know what they were doing there. It only lasted a second, though, before he pulled out a folded-up piece of paper from his utility belt. Peter walked closer and saw a crudely drawn blueprint. “You’ll go here,” Wade pointed to a large room on the southeast side of the building, “And use one of the computers there to download as many files as possible.”

“What files?” Peter asked.

“All of them.”

“What?” Peter raised his eyebrows at the vagueness of the request. There could be hundreds of files on the computer, surely not _all_ of interest to Wade.

“I’ll be waiting here,” Deadpool moved on and pointed to a hallway next to the room, “Keeping an eye out.”

“Wait, Wade, what is this for anyway?” Peter was growing more skeptical.” You said it was personal.”

“Stealth is very important on this one.” Deadpool kept talking, showing no sign of even registering the fact that Peter said something. “There’s probably going to be people all over the place, so-“

Peter grabbed his shoulders firmly, forcing the larger man to look at him. His stomach was churning uneasily. Deadpool was acting like some sort of soldier, with pristine posture and no focus on anything but the goal. “Are you with me, Wade? Are you ok?”

Wade tensed under his grip, and Peter thought for a moment that he saw something like aggression in his body language, but then a switch flipped. “Never been better, Spidey.” He was overly cheerful as he removed the hands from his shoulders and shoved the blueprint into Peter’s hands, who shoved it into his own belt. “Let’s go download some files.”

Wade turned around and practically skipped toward the building. Peter had no choice but to follow.

...

As it turned out, there were not people everywhere like Wade said there would be. Peter had tried to ask, but Deadpool had shushed him and whispered into his ear, “Be stealthy, Spidey.” Peter ignored the shiver that his gruff voice had sent down his spine and kept walking.

“This is where I leave you, baby boy,” Deadpool whispered in his ear again once they reached the hallway where he was supposed to keep watch.

Peter balked at the new nickname. Contrary to earlier, Wade was now in some sort of manic state. Peter nodded and fist bumped him before continuing down the hallway. He vowed to deal with the way Wade’s whispers had made his stomach flip at a later time.

He turned the corner into “his” room and stopped in his tracks. The room, which stretched as long as half the length of a football field, was not filled with computers, but instead had cheap fold-out tables laid wall-to-wall, all covered in machine rifles. In fact, there were not, _any_ computers in the room, just many guns. He saw a glimpse of light out of the corner of his eye and looked up to see a neat black camera pointed at the doorway which he was standing in.

He cursed under his breath. This was a potentially easy fix. A pain in his ass, and much harder if it were synced to the cloud, but not the end of the world. If it had someone monitoring the feeds, _then_ they were in trouble, but Peter’s spidey sense was quiet so he assumed that wasn’t the case. Besides, he had Deadpool keeping watch right outside. He debated immediately turning around and letting the other man know that there were no computers in here, but he decided to take care of the camera first. He scaled the wall and gracefully crawled across the ceiling to where it was stationed.

Now that he was closer, he laughed at the simple technology in front of him. There was only one wire, a power line, leading him to believe that there was not a live feed somewhere else. A closer look let him know that this was definitely the case, as there were no connectivity settings and only a physical memory card. Thousands of dollars in weapons below him yet the camera guarding them was less than fifty dollars. Peter smirked and took the memory card before swinging down to the ground. He knew Wade would get a kick out of this.

But Wade was not in the hallway. Peter’s stomach dropped and he suddenly realized the gravity of the situation. Wade had given him absolutely no intel on where he was or what these guys were into. Now he had no backup and a blueprint which was evidently false.

Peter felt his heart race as he crept further down the hallway. There was no indication of danger from his spidey sense yet, which was promising. He vaguely considered just turning and leaving before internally scolding himself for even thinking that. In the short time he knew Wade, he knew that he would never do that.

And so, he turned out of the hallway and further into the building.

There was seemingly no one inside, but the building was in no way vacant. As if the giant gun room was no indication, this was seemingly some sort of illegal arms dealing operation. Business plans and disassembled guns were strewn about in the rooms Peter checked. He had also came across various personal offices, filled with photos of people and pets. That was the hardest for him to get used to after starting mercenary work. All of their targets had families and lives, no different than Peter. A job was a job. It was the reason he refused to use lethal force unless absolutely necessary.

Peter once again wondered what Wade wanted from this place. He didn’t want to think that he was lying, but a vague amalgamation of files from an arms dealer? Really? Peter had been in this business long enough, and also had the critical thinking skills, to deduce roughly why the clients requested what they did. Unless Wade was going to start dealing guns, Peter didn’t really see a point to what he asked for. Perhaps this location was hiding some sort of nefarious thing underneath it all, but there wasn’t really any evidence for that.

And then he had disappeared, on an already sketchy mission. Peter truly didn’t think that Wade had _left_ him, but-

Suddenly Peter heard what he was looking for, a click of a gun’s safety from a few rooms away. He felt especially thankful for his hearing enhancement at this point in time.

He quickly moved in the direction of the sound, slightly confused as he continued to listen. He only heard the clack of a computer keyboard, no sign of any sort of struggle, which would be weird if Wade was hostage-

He stopped in his tracks and felt his heart drop as he entered the room and saw Deadpool, arm outstretched and holding a gun. His mask was off for some reason and crumpled up in his free hand. He was aimed at a skinny balding man hunched over a computer, seemingly unaware he was about to be killed.

Peter panicked and instinctually raised his arm up to grab the gun from his hand with his webs.

Wade didn’t even flinch though, seemingly having learned his lesson from the last time Peter pulled this stunt. He just pulled a new gun from his belt and kept his eyes on the man in front of him.

The gun clattered back to Peter, causing the man at the computer to jump and swivel his chair around quickly, his eyes first landing on Peter and then on Wade. He saw the fear in the man’s eyes, the total terror, and Peter felt a sudden overwhelming desperation to _save_ Wade from this, whatever this horrible situation was that made his spidey sense buzz in the back of his skull.

Wade didn’t move for a moment, letting the man sit in terror, before pulling the trigger. He didn’t miss.

The buzz in his skull was suddenly gone and replaced by anger, seething and all-consuming.

“What the _fuck_ was that, Wade?”

Wade turned to face him slowly, and Peter saw that there were tears on his face, glistening on his scars. He didn’t answer him.

“Fine, I’ll tell you then.” Peter couldn’t help himself. It was one of the many problems in his life, being unable to hold back his bitter anger when he was hurt. He had ruined many relationships, from Uncle Ben to his partners, because of it. “It was fucking _murder_ , Deadpool. There was no threat, Wade, absolutely none. There is _no_ one here, he had _no_ weapon, _no_ backup, and you just shot him in the head. There’s a difference between doing a damn job and killing an innocent-“

“Don’t say that,” Wade suddenly spoke up, with more anger than Peter had anticipated. “Don’t call him innocent, you don’t know-“

“Don’t know what he did? What did he do, Wade? You’ve told me the stories before, how someone steals a purse from some old lady, so you hunt them down and blow their damn brains out. Is that what this is? Payback for some petty crime?”

“You don’t know the full story,” Wade said quietly, his fists clenched at his side. His breath was shallow and he wouldn’t meet Peter’s eyes.

“Tell me then!” Peter yelled. He was crying now, too, although Wade couldn’t see due to his mask. He briefly considered taking it off, because a part of his heart soared at the fact that Wade hadn’t rushed to cover his face up when he came in the room. But then, here he was, letting his anger get the best of him. “Tell me the full story, of why you brought me out here and _lied_ to me so I could help you kill someone.”

Wade opened his mouth, an expression on his face of gut-wrenching pain. It made Peter want to step closer, bridge the gap, and give the man a hug. He closed his lips, though, and stayed silent.

Peter laughed dryly. “I know we didn’t have an official agreement or anything, but _really,_ Deadpool, I thought you were becoming different.”

Wade’s eye twitched at that, and he stared at a spot over Peter’s shoulder before his entire body shuddered and he let out a wheeze. He turned his back before he began fully sobbing.

Peter’s blood chilled at that, at the grown man sobbing in front of him. Surely he hadn’t been _that_ mean, although maybe he had been, and every fiber in his body willed him to step forward and drape his arms around the man and whisper in his ear, _“It’s okay, I’m here, I’m sorry, you’re alright”._ It felt so intimate, seeing him unmasked and openly sobbing in a dark and empty room. His fingers itched to reach up and remove his own mask, to return some sort of intimacy.

But he didn’t. Before his mind could think of the situation anymore, he turned on his heel, walked out of the room and out of the building.

…

Two men were shot in the head in that room that night. Only one woke up.

The entire night wasn’t Wade’s proudest moment. He hated himself for it, actually. He didn’t even need the boxes and their rounds of _I told you so_ this time.

He couldn’t deny the relief he had felt, though. Finally, _finally,_ Weapon X and the shitstorm surrounding it was put to rest. Except, he supposed, for his outstanding trauma, but he couldn’t shoot that.

He didn’t call Peter for almost two weeks after the incident, too ashamed to even think about it. Not only had he broken a huge rule in the Spider-man Code of Conduct, but he had full-on ugly cried in front of him.

Like he said, not his proudest moment.

Eventually, he picked up burner phone #13 and dialed one of the few contacts on it: “Spidey.”

There was no answer, so he left a message. In fact, there was no answer to any of his calls for three months. Wade left many messages, with varying degrees of pity, to no avail.

_(Face it, Wade, he hates you)_

**(This should teach you to just listen to us, Wade. We were right.)**

_(He doesn’t want to talk to you and you should just accept the fact that you fucked everything up.)_

**(Stop annoying him with the phone calls.)**

It made Wade sad, really. Peter was the best thing to happen to him in years, a ray of optimistic and sassy sunshine in his otherwise dreary life. Even during their big fight, Wade could tell that even though he was pissed to all hell, he didn’t _care_ that his face was ugly.

Wade sat on his couch in his boxers late one Saturday night, eating Neapolitan ice cream straight from the carton and watching Planet Earth when burner phone #13 started ringing.

“Wade,” the voice on the other end of the line croaked, “I need your help.”

…

Peter was a smart guy. Being younger and less well-known than many mercenaries, he often was assumed to be rather deft. But he wasn’t, he had a college degree and had managed to spend years in this job without his identity ever leaving the filing cabinets within E&E. He was _smart_. So, when he wanted to take himself off the map, he _took himself off the map_.

E&E took it well. They had never been too dependent on his services anyways; in a world where everyone wanted the quick buck of a low risk mercenary job, tech specialists were easy to find.

As for the flip phone he used to coordinate missions, he kept it. It stayed silent for a few weeks until the contact name “DP” appearing on the pixelated screen in blocky letters. He rolled his eyes and threw the phone back down to where it normally lay on his kitchen counter.

His stomach ached at the thought of Wade. That whole shit show was too much for Peter to even _begin_ to process. He thought back to when he used to go to therapy, after Uncle Ben died and before Aunt May hospitalized. Sometimes he liked to imagine himself sitting in that office, talking about his troubles. “I got mad that a mercenary who is paid to murder people murdered someone.” he would say. “Mhmm.” the therapist would say. “The worst part is, I had a fucking _crush_ on him.” he would say. “I see.” the therapist would say.

Yeah, no. Peter decidedly ignored those feelings.

It took another two days until he silenced the phone. All of the calls were coming from Wade (and a secret part of him wanted to answer it, wanted to revel in his apology and then go and get Mexican food, and then go back to his apartment with him, because he had been having the weirdest dreams lately) and he was just sick of it all. Rationally, he knew that there was probably a reason that Wade did whatever he did that night. From what he could tell, Wade was not a bad person. And jeez, the big, bad Merc with a Mouth, Deadpool, had _sobbed_ in front of him, and Peter kicked himself mentally for letting his ego prevent him from comforting the man.

But he silenced his phone and didn’t listen to the voicemails because Peter (was a dick) had a lot going on.

University was a pain, and though he loved what he was learning, it hurt to have to leave the prestigious laboratories where his classes were held and walk down the street to Charles’ Country Pan-Fried Chicken. He hadn’t actually last worked here since his undergrad, but after asking E&E to put his file on hold, he had to pay the bills _somehow_.

He thought fondly of his undergrad years, especially the first few. His Aunt May hadn’t been hospitalized until halfway through his junior year, so he had lived his college life relatively stress-free. She had even saved up enough money for him to live in the _dorms_ his freshman year, and it was the first and only time in his life where he actually forgot how poor he was.

Life was good back then. A fresh and eager biology student with a Stark Internship who went back to Columbia’s prestigious dorms at the end of the day. He stopped petty crimes with his powers when given the opportunity, and he only worked at the chicken restaurant on Saturday nights, for some spending money.

Then May had fallen ill, suddenly and horribly. The doctor had uttered the words “long-term care facility,” and everything changed. He tried to keep doing it all for a while, but it just wasn’t sustainable. May’s treatment was expensive.

So, he quit the Stark Internship and picked up more hours at Charles’. He didn’t dare tell his Aunt, knowing how much it would break her. She lived a long and laborious life, especially after Uncle Ben’s passing, but it was all with the goal of having Peter live the best life he could.

Eventually, Charles’ didn’t cut it either.

“I’m leaving this shit hole.” his coworker had told him one day, angrily dumping frozen chicken thighs into a bubbling hot fryer.

“And going where?” Peter snorted, mixing a vat of mild sauce. Everyone here talked about leaving, but it was only ever talk.

“You ever shoot a gun, Peter?” His coworker sighed and angrily tapped the timer above the fryer.

“I…can’t say I have.” Peter stopped to look at him.

“Maybe you should learn.” The other man fished around in his greasy apron pocket until he found what he was looking for and placed it in Peter’s hand. “Anywhere is better than this place.”

Peter glanced at the business card lazily. “E&E Enterprises.” it read in a cursive font. “Here to help you attain what you need.”

…

It took Peter three months to come to the same conclusion about Charles’ Country Pan-Fried Chicken that he had when he was in undergrad.

His academics fell to shit and he spent less time than ever with his Aunt May, spending nearly every waking moment behind the fryer. It was hard work and his managers were abusive. But he dealt with it because his mind couldn’t process the alternative. By now he had managed to lay it all out clearly in his mind: potential reasons why Wade did it, potential backstories of who the man was, Wade’s actions leading up to that night, Peter’s actions. It was all there, but his mind just refused to come to a conclusion about it.

He did that sometimes. He never did have a conversation with his supervisor at Stark Industries. Not only was he giving up a position he had worked towards for years, but he would have had to explain his poverty and his withering aunt to someone he barely knew.

So yeah, he burnt bridges sometimes. Not by being outright mean but by just _ignoring_ things. Some small part of his brain figured that he was burning a bridge in this scenario too, but he quickly pushed that thought away.

But then, May got worse. The doctor at her care facility (who, Peter judged by his unshaven face, his lack of a watch, and his worn shoes, was just as poor as they were) assured him that this procedure would be the last one. Just one more surgery and she would be fine. Peter was skeptical but was smart enough to read between the lines: the alternative to the surgery would be much worse.

He gave May a kiss on the cheek before walking out of the room, out of the hospital, into the snow that was blanketing New York, and beginning his walk towards his laughably small apartment.

He made two calls on the way: One to Charles’, telling the manager that he wouldn’t be able to make any of his shifts this weekend. The other one was to E&E, asking them to reopen his files.

…

It was Peter’s first mission back, and as it goes with Parker luck, it was a bad one. He knew that the instant he showed up at the point, a monastery of all places. Firstly, he was late, a rare occurrence, because he decided to spend a few extra minutes studying. Secondly, the lights were off. This was a bad sign, considering E&E had told them there would definitely be people inside. He considered calling off the mission, but he needed the money. Badly.

This was a bit riskier than his normal missions. Not only was he alone, but the monastery was actually a cover-up for an elaborate drug trafficking operation. Peter had learned in this business that people got very angry when you messed with their drugs. He was hired, he figured by a rival gang, to go inside and find and take the locations and times of their drop-offs.

He had no one to wait on and went inside and-

See, that was actually where Peter’s memory shut off. After that, the next moment he remembered was laying on the roof-

 _How did I get on the roof?_ He thought.

And his face was throbbing and he couldn’t take a full breath and his arm was twisted behind him-

_I can’t breathe I can’t breathe I can’t_

And his foot was on fire and there was yelling and-

His memory leaves him again.

…

It hadn’t taken long for Wade to find Peter. The other man was barely able to croak out a coherent sentence, but he did manage to hear him say the word “monastery”. There weren’t many of those in New York, shady ones at that.

His heart pounded as he ran to where he figured Spider-man would be. Spider-man had fallen off the radar in the past few months (not that Wade was looking for him. That would be desperate), and now, what? He was doing missions again? Or was this something else, a mugging or worse?

Regardless, Wade’s anxiety was at a high as the building entered his view. There were about ten men outside, carrying guns and angrily shouting each other in a foreign language. Wade had to fight the urge to go up and shoot them all, for presumably hurting Peter. “ _Roof_ ”, Peter had also uttered, so Wade ducked back into the shadows and climbed up the fire escape of a neighboring building.

As Wade stopped as he heard groaning coming from the top. He slowly raised his body up to peek at the roof, and nearly dropped down in shock.

Peter was there. He was suited, meaning he must have been on a mission, but his mask was dark and wet, and he was laying awkwardly, his arm bent behind him. There was also a large pool of blood coming from his foot. He wasn’t moving, and Wade’s anxiety hit overdrive.

“Peter,” He rushed over and turned him so he was no longer laying on his arm, “Peter, Peter, Peter.”

Spider-man jolted back at the touch, but stilled as he craned his head and saw it was Wade, “DP?” he slurred, “You came?”

“Of course I did.” He sat back and took an inventory of his injuries. “What happened, Peter?”

“I was doing a mission.” He slurred again.

 _So, concussion, probably._ Wade thought to himself.

“Uh-huh,” Peter’s arm was not moving back quite how it should, so Wade figured his shoulder was probably dislocated. “And?”

“They snuck up on me, and they _punched_ me!” Peter rambled. “And then when I tried to web away, they shot me in the foot, and then I fell.”

In a different scenario, Wade would be _living_ for the younger man’s loopiness. He sighed worriedly and took off his mask. “I’m going to take you back to my place, okay Peter? Just until you’re more conscious. Your foot is bleeding badly, so I’m going to wrap it, and then we’re leaving, okay?”

Peter mumbled something unintelligible under his breath. Wade took it as a yes. For a lack of a better fabric, he took off his mask and began to tightly wrap the other man’s foot. Peter squirmed under him in pain, and Wade was thankful he wasn’t so delirious that he would start fighting back. He ignored the boxes’ chorus of _(ugly)_ **(ugly)** _(ugly)_ **(ugly)** and picked Peter up bridal style. He groaned in his arms, and Wade made a mental note to check out his injuries more once they got somewhere safe.

Wade didn’t know what to think of the protective urge in his chest.

…

Peter had relied on Wade to retell most of what had happened, especially since he couldn’t remember much himself.

Peter’s mission had gone to shit and he had called Wade. Wade came and took him back to his small, unkempt apartment to recuperate.

“I’m sorry for taking you here, somewhere you don’t know.” Wade had said as they sat on his dingy couch. Peter watched him nervously scratch the back of his neck, his eyes scanning him. He was wearing his mask, as usual, with grey sweatpants and a plain white t-shirt. Peter was most definitely _not_ letting his eyes linger on his arms and how he could see the muscles rippling under his skin as he moved. “I didn’t know where you lived, and you needed help, like, _immediately_.”

Wade had told him that he had really had a number done on him. From what he could piece together from the injured man’s incoherent ramblings, Peter had tried to web away, was shot in the foot, lost his rhythm and faceplanted into the roof of a nearby building. He must have fallen in a very unlucky way, because the force of flying into the building had caused him to break a rib and his nose, dislocate his shoulder, and become concussed.

“Your healing factor took care of most of it.” Wade recalled. He was antsy, and Peter could guess why. Or at least, he could guess a few of the reasons. Their lack of communication in the past few months, the fact that _Peter was unmasked right now_ , their big fight, Wade’s evident care for Peter’s wellbeing. “Like the concussion, and speeding up the healing process a bit. I still had to set your shoulder, though, and your, uh-“ Wade gestured at Peter’s face, pointedly glancing elsewhere. “-nose.”

His healing factor had taken care of most of his wounds in the sense that he wouldn’t be hospital bound for months. It was nowhere near as effective as Wade’s, and he still couldn’t put weight on his foot and his ribs were bruised and sore to the touch. There was an elephant in the room here, one that Peter was oddly calm about. Medical purposes or not, Wade knew what his face looked like. His big secret, the one he had been protecting for years, was now no longer his to keep. He realized he should be freaking out, maybe angry, but he wasn’t. Just calm and listening, at the moment.

“And then, you didn’t even wake up for around five days. I guess your body just needed all hands on deck in the recovery department.” Wade weakly laughed. “Well, you woke a few times. Speaking gibberish and rambling, mostly-“ (mostly?) “-but nothing too noteworthy.”

Peter had remembered waking up for good, about ten minutes prior to their current conversation. He remembered his eyes fluttering open slowly, and then snapping open as he realized he had _no clue where the fuck he was_. He was also in clothes that he didn’t recognize and, he realized as he frantically reached up to touch his face, didn’t have his mask on. He got out of the bed he was laying in and noticed it lying on a table nearby, with a sticky note on it that read “FRESHLY WASHED J - WADE”.

He felt slightly less worried, although all the more confused as he realized that he was most likely at Wade’s house, for whatever reason. And in Wade’s clothes and unmasked, for whatever reason. He also couldn’t put weight on his foot and slowly hobbled out of the room, using the walls as a crutch, where Wade was sitting on a couch.

The living room had pieces of Wade all over it, guns, burner phones, coupons to various fast food joints, many takeout bags, and general clutter. Wade was wearing his mask, so Peter couldn’t quite tell if he was looking at him or not, but judging by the way he jumped as Peter grew closer, he figured he must have been asleep.

“Thanks.” Peter finally spoke, back in their current conversation.

Wade paused for a moment, looking at him. “… _fooooor_?”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Saving me, dumbass.”

“I didn’t save you.” Wade laughed. “Just…helped a friend out.”

“Wade, saving someone from near-certain death is more than ‘helping a friend out’.” Peter sighed. “You had no responsibility to, anyways, given the fact I’ve been ghosting you for a few months.”

Wade was quiet, looking down at his hands, which were picking at the hem of his sweatpants.

“Also,” Peter tilted his head. “tangential question, but did you… _dress me_?” He gestured down at the blue sweatpants and grey shirt he was wearing, which were definitely not his, and also a few sizes too big.

“No.” Wade said quickly, waving his arms for emphasis. “I mean, the clothes are mine, but you somehow still managed to dress yourself in your concussed state. Your suit was all torn up, and I figured you wouldn’t want me to do it, at least not until I’d taken you on a date first.” He laughed, uneasy tones beneath it.

“Well. I appreciate that you decided against it.” Peter felt his heart flutter nervously as he opened his mouth again. “Look, you can totally say no to this, but, would you feel comfortable taking your mask off? I’m not putting mine back on, not because you’ve already seen my face, but because I _trust_ you. I just,” he ran his hands through his hair, watching Wade’s still figure. “I feel like we’re about to have a _conversation_ and I want to to see your face, Wade.”

He was silent for a long moment before responding. “Wait, did you say you _trust_ me? I thought that whole-“

“I get emotionally constipated, Wade, and this time I took it out in a bad way, but I have never stopped trusting you.” He wondered if Wade was even able to decipher what he was saying within his ramblings. “There was a momentary breach of trust that night, but it doesn’t mean I don’t, it doesn’t mean we can’t talk about it. But anyway, would you?”

“Take off my mask?” Wade asked slowly, reaching up to fidget with the end of it. “Why? I mean, you’ve already seen it.”

“Yeah, I have. Do you not want me to see it again?”

“No, it’s not that.” Wade’s voice was tight. “I just- don’t really understand why you’d want to.”

There was silence between them for a moment, Wade waiting on bated breath to hear a rejection and Peter coming to realize that maybe there was more to this than he realized.

“I like your face, Wade.” Peter said quietly, feeling his face grow red.

“What?” He responded, dumbfounded.

“It’s a nice face, so. Please?”

There was more silence and Peter thought for a moment that he had just laid himself out there and Wade wasn’t going to do it. But then, he reached up and slowly pulled off his mask. His eyes were squeezed shut, and Peter could hear how shallow his breaths were.

“Wade?”

“Yeah?” He responded, eyes still squeezed shut.

“Thanks.” Peter said softly. “For the record, you still have a nice face.”

Wade opened his eyes now, examining him. “You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Wade laughed suddenly. “This is really awkward, Petey. And weirdly intimate.”

Peter laughed with him as he brought his hands up to rub his face. “It is. What have our lives come to?”

“You’re just now asking yourself that?” Wade smiled, still not looking directly at him. “Hey, not to make this whole situation worse than it already is or anything, but, any chance we could talk?”

“About?” Peter asked, knowing what it would be about.

Wade blinked a few times, seemingly convinced and surprised that Peter was clueless. “Uh, the mission we did together a few months ago.”

“Oh.” Peter sat more comfortably on the couch, straightening the sweatpants around his thighs. “Well, I can’t really go anywhere, given my foot. So let’s get it over with.”

“Ok.” Wade took a deep breath and clapped his hands together. Peter hadn’t gotten a chance to really look at his face up close, at least when he wasn’t mortally injured or having a breakdown. One thing that kept drawing Peter’s attention were his eyes; they were a deep blue and animated, just like Wade. He also couldn’t help himself from thinking about how attractive they were. “So, bare with me, Petey. I have a whole speech planned here, got it reviewed by the boxes and Weasel and everything.”

“Boxes?” Peter interjected.

“A story for another time.” Wade waved his hand. “So, I know this is long overdue, but I couldn’t get ahold of you until now. Which, I’m not mad about, by the way. You were rightfully mad. I lied to you.”

Peter watched him carefully, his heart aching. It was one thing to be mad at someone, but it changed the game to hear their thoughts on the matter. Peter forgot to live outside his own head sometimes.

“What went down that night was personal. It wasn’t business. That’s why I called you, Peter. I can trust you, not only with my life but with my emotions. So, I called you to help me do what I did. The thought of killing that guy, the relief of it had me on the verge of a breakdown and I thought that having you there would calm me down, because you’re just amazing, Petey. I didn’t tell you beforehand because I thought that you’d try to talk me out of it, and that if you did get mad, we could talk about it afterward and everything would be fine.” Wade sighed.

Peter’s heart was racing. He knew this was building up to something, but he wasn’t sure what.

“Regardless of that, I shouldn’t have lied to you. It was wrong of me, and I understand why you’re mad, and I understand that you can continue being mad.” Wade looked at Peter, a solemn look in his eye.

Peter swallowed, his mouth dry. “Thanks for apologizing, Wade. I’m not really mad at you anymore. I was mad at the time, sure, but not anymore. I guess I’m just curious why?”

“Why what?”

“Why you wanted to shoot the guy.”

Wade looked down, picking once again at the hem of his pants. “I thought you’d ask. It wasn’t something petty like you said, Pete. It was a really big deal for me.”

Peter nodded. He took a leap of faith and reached out to put a supportive hand on Wade’s thigh.

Wade looked up, surprised at first, but smiled at the gesture before continuing. “Ever hear of Weapon X?”

Peter shook his head.

“Good. A long time ago, there was a guy named Wade Wilson who got cancer and was going to die from it. The thought of dying so young scared him, so when he was offered a cure from some shady and morally ambiguous Canadian businesspeople, he took it.” Wade stopped for a moment, avoiding Peter’s eyes. “I didn’t die, but the price I had to pay was immortality, slight insanity, and these frankly disgusting scars. They hurt me, Pete.” Wade looked up to meet his eyes, seeming as though he was on the verge of tears. “I try to keep it light most of the time, but they really, _really_ hurt me, Peter.”

Peter felt Wade lightly poke his fingers and looked down to find that his supportive touch had morphed into a tense death grip on the other man’s thigh. He quickly loosened it.

“So, the years immediately preceding that whole debacle involved me finding and killing everyone involved. I know murder is wrong, but I really don’t regret it. They were bad people, and it wasn’t just me that they hurt.” Wade’s face was calm despite the words coming out of his mouth. “There was one guy, Stanley Morgan, who was good at hiding and moved a lot. I eventually moved on to work for E&E, but I kept an eye out for him. And then, a few weeks ago, I got a hit that he was in the area, and…you know the rest. It was over, Peter. I was angry for _so_ long, but it was over, and I could put it to rest. Pretty cathartic.” Wade sighed and met Peter’s eyes again. “Please tell me you see where I’m coming from?”

Peter was silent for a moment. He felt a lot of emotions at that moment. Anger, at these Weapon X people. Sadness, that Wade had to go through all that. Guilt, that he had been so cruel to Wade these past few weeks. He took a deep breath in, feeling his ribs ache. Somehow, he felt closer to Wade. Wade wasn’t some scary, heartless mercenary. He was a person. He had troubles and a sad-ass backstory, just like Peter.

“Can I hug you?” Peter asked, not looking away from Wade’s eyes.

“I- What?” Wade said.

“Is it alright,” Peter gestured towards Wade. “If I hug you?”

“Uh, yes…?” Wade raised his pitch at the end of the word as if he were asking a question.

“We don’t have to.” Peter said empathetically.

“No, I want to, Petey.” Wade finally broke their eye contact and – was he blushing? – went back to nervously picking at the hem of his pants. “Just a lot of emotions right now.”

“Yeah.” Peter agreed. He scooted himself closer on the couch and threw his arms over Wade’s shoulder, his face sitting nicely in the nook of Wade’s neck. Wade was motionless for a few moments before slowly, delicately wrapping his arms around Peter, too. Peter basically melted, all tension leaving his body, and he couldn’t get over how _warm_ Wade was.

They sat like that for a while, just two men hugging each other on a couch. For Wade, the boxes were quiet, and he didn’t even try to make any ill-timed jokes. For Peter, he cried a bit from the emotional release.

Eventually, the hug did end, but Peter didn’t sit all the way back, instead deciding to rest his forehead gently against Wade’s. Wade’s eyes fluttered open, alarmed. “For the record, again,” Peter smiled knowingly, “I still think your face is nice.”

Wade’s eyes closed once again and he snorted. “You know me so well, Petey.”

“So.” Peter closed his eyes and bit down his nerves. “I could totally be reading this whole, like, _thing_ we’ve got going on wrong, and if I am, just like, _tell_ me. But I’m getting the vibe that this is going to be okay, and I hope I’m right.”

Wade opened his eyes once again, confused, and began to move his head away from Peter’s. “Wha-“

Peter cut him off by gently grabbing his face and guiding their lips together. Wade was silent, then, and motionless for only a moment, as the cogs in his brain began to turn. Peter’s stomach flipped as he began to kiss back (and, Peter thought to himself, he was a _good kisser_ ).

The kiss ended too soon for Peter’s liking as Wade finally pulled back. “We should probably talk about this.” Wade smiled.

“Yeah.” Peter laughed, feeling himself blushing.

“Should I drop you off at casa Peter now that you’re awake? Or are you spending the night?” Wade asked. “If it makes any difference, you have Deadpool’s vow of honor that there will be absolutely no funny business.”

“No funny business?” Peter chuckled.

“None.” Wade smiled and shook his head.

Peter sat back and rubbed his chin, pretending to think it over for a while, playing along with whatever game they were playing now. “Will you order Mexican food?”

“I can order Mexican food.” Wade said, already pulling his phone out of the pocket of his sweatpants.

“I _guess_ I can spend another night, then.” Peter drawled sarcastically.

Wade laughed, and Peter reached out to put a hand on his arm as he called for takeout. Wade smiled brightly as he met his eyes, and for the first time in a long time, he thought that maybe things were going to be okay.

Actually, he thought to himself, maybe they were going to be _great_.

Fin.

**Author's Note:**

> Comment your thoughts!! go check out [AiralySwirls](https://airalyswirls.tumblr.com/), I am so glad i got to collaborate with them. They went above and beyond and they are SUCH a great artist and creator. Also, hey, look, i figured out how to put pictures in a fic! come find me on [tumblr](https://thisbitchheartbroken.tumblr.com/)


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